


Job Satisfaction

by Sineala



Category: Avengers (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Avengers Vol. 4 (2010), BDSM, Cock Warming, Indifference Kink, M/M, Objectification, Praise Kink, Shame, Unhappy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-27
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22919185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sineala/pseuds/Sineala
Summary: When Steve can't handle his work with the Secret Avengers, he has a rather unconventional arrangement with Tony to help relieve his stress. It almost works.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 113
Kudos: 313





	Job Satisfaction

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kiyaar](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiyaar/gifts).



> A very, very belated happy birthday to Kiyaar, who wanted a story with Commander Rogers and cockwarming, and so that's what she's getting. (People who are not Kiyaar should consider Kiyaar's taste in fanfiction and heed the tags, because this will not end well for Steve and Tony.)
> 
> Thanks to isozyme and hopelesse for their help!

Steve swallows hard as he knocks on the door to Tony's penthouse. He's in uniform, but he's still not used to this one, to the feel of his bare knuckles against polished wood, the sight of himself in navy and leather. The gloves are fingerless. He's wearing a weapons harness. Every time he looks at himself in the mirror, he hates the sight a little more.

But that's why he's here. That's why he keeps coming here.

The door swings open and Tony's on the other side, smiling at him as the morning sunshine from the huge banks of windows behind him outlines his tousled hair and edges him in light. 

Steve knows, looking at him, that they're already on, because Tony's standing there in slippers and silken pajamas. The scarlet robe wrapped around him is monogrammed on the breast: AES. Tony hates being called Anthony. It's a luxurious outfit, something one would expect from the idle rich, lounging about on their leisurely mornings. If Steve touched it, it would be soft, satiny; it probably has a thread count higher than Steve could ever guess.

The thing is, it's not what Tony wears in the mornings. Steve's spent nearly ten years living with the Avengers, and a good part of the time with Tony in residence. He's watched Tony stumble down -- or sometimes up -- to breakfast in worn flannel plaid sleep pants and t-shirts that say things like I HAVE POTENTIAL with a picture of a ball at the top of a hill. Tony might be worth billions, but when he's left to his own devices, he sure doesn't dress like it.

No, this is all for Steve.

"Commander!" Tony says, pleasantly, in a tone that anyone might use to greet a good friend. A good friend with whom he is definitely not planning to do anything that they are actually planning to do. "Good morning. I'm glad to see you're so eager to get down to the day's business, but you'll have to forgive me. You're a little early, and I'm not quite ready yet."

Steve looks over Tony's shoulder, where Tony's nearest holographic display is showing the time. 0800. Steve's not early. They both know this. This is how the game works.

"I could come back in a bit?" Steve offers. He has to admit he does like this part, where he pretends that he's going to go, just so Tony can ask for him back. A little thrill runs through him with the anticipation of it; he likes hearing that Tony wants him. 

It's a bit of a contradiction, given what Steve is actually here to do, but whoever said that humans made sense?

"No, no!" Tony says, hurriedly, stepping back, beckoning Steve forward. "Please do come in. I just need to get ready for the day."

Steve steps in, breathing out as the door locks behind him. Tony's not going to let anyone interrupt them. A different man setting up this scene might have arranged it so there would be interruptions, the potential for public humiliation, but that's not what Tony wants, and that's not what Steve needs. So here they are, just the two of them, safe and secure.

Tony's penthouse almost, but not quite, boasts one of those trendy open-concept floor plans. When Steve gets past the foyer he's confronted with the wide expanse of kitchen, living area, and office area. Just past that is a half-length wall separating the public space from the more private space; he can see a walk-in closet, the corner of Tony's bed, and the door to Tony's bathroom.

"Can I get you anything while you wait?" Tony asks, solicitously, chivvying him forward until he's about halfway into the place, just past the kitchen island.

Steve stops; he's hit his mark now, an actor waiting for the spotlight -- or, when he thinks about it, the exact opposite. "No, thank you."

"Okay, then," Tony says, with a smile. "I'll just be a minute or two. Excuse me."

Steve lifts his head and puts his hands behind his back, settling into a familiar parade rest as Tony turns and walks away. If Steve were an ordinary visitor, the next several minutes wouldn't be happening at all.

This is where the game really starts.

Tony sheds the robe as he walks, letting it pool behind him. He's bare to the waist underneath, and Tony's pants and boxers follow very shortly, leaving Steve with a view of Tony's perfect ass as Tony heads further into his bedroom. Steve can't follow him. Steve can't touch him. Steve gets what Tony says he gets, and right now that means Steve can't do anything but watch as Tony utterly ignores him.

Steve's cock twitches in his pants; he's already starting to get hard.

Tony opens the bathroom door, leaves it open, and turns on the shower. It had taken them a few tries to get the temperature and humidity right so the glass door wouldn't fog up, but now Steve has an even more perfect view of Tony stepping into the shower, tipping his head back to let the water run over him. He soaps up, shampoos his hair, rinses. His hands run all over his body. One of his hands dips to his half-hard cock, and Steve's mouth goes dry as Tony gives himself a few leisurely strokes, like this just happens to be his everyday morning routine. He's not asking Steve to touch him. He's not even opening his eyes. Steve might as well not exist; he gets to see what Tony lets him see by Tony's grace alone, and he's already achingly hard.

 _You liked that_ , Tony said, sleepily, after the last time. _Watching me jerk off and not being able to do a damn thing about it._

 _I really did._ Steve had smiled and kissed his cheek. _Maybe next time you could... ignore me more?_

He hadn't quite known what he'd meant, how to get that feeling, but Tony, ever the genius, has some kind of direct line to Steve's libido. Because what Tony does now is pull up one of his ubiquitous holographic screens and start playing pornography. It's terrible, the sort of porn Steve feels like he ought to be morally condemning, but right now Steve's dick definitely doesn't care. Flesh slaps against flesh, and overwrought cries of pleasure play out, and Tony's still standing there pumping his cock and watching intently, like this is really what he wants to get off to, like there's no one else here at all, and Steve is now so hard that he wonders if he'll come in his pants.

Steve bites his lip hard as Tony groans and comes all over the shower glass, painting it in spurts before sagging backwards and turning off the porn with an idle wave of his hand. His cock is softening rapidly, which is actually the point; for what they've got planned, Tony doesn't want to be hard.

The first couple times, he'd taken care of himself before Steve had come over at all, but they'd quickly figured out that this way was much more fun.

The water turns off. Tony steps out of the shower, towels off, brushes his teeth, neatens up his beard -- everything he'd do if Steve weren't watching. He discards the towel from around his waist and wanders naked across the room to the walk-in closet, and Steve is hot all over. He knows Tony's not going to touch him. He knows he's not going to touch Tony. He knows he gets what Tony gives him, and no more. He doesn't get to decide. All he can do is watch.

Tony returns with the components of a three-piece suit, lays them all out on his bed, and proceeds to get dressed for the day. It's torture, almost -- like stripping, slowly, in reverse. Tony does up every button of his shirt without looking at Steve, buttoned all the way up, like it's a taunt: _you can't have this_. He takes an agonizing time adjusting his tie in the mirror, like it needs to be perfect.

And then he turns and strides back to Steve, smiling politely, like the past several minutes never happened, like he doesn't know Steve is already hard enough to cut diamond.

"All set." Tony's voice is brisk. "What I've got planned for today is mostly some Resilient paperwork and maybe some work on the armor if I finish that early enough, but you know how much I always appreciate your help, Commander."

Because Tony is Tony, always in motion, he's across the room and over at the office area before it occurs to Steve that he could follow. Tony doesn't have much there: there's a huge, plush chair, and an even bigger desk, the majority of it covered in those holographic screens Tony likes. There's a laptop, pushed to one side, and a very small pile of actual papers. Ever the futurist, Tony is a big believer in the paperless office.

Tony sinks down into the chair, leans back, and beckons Steve. "Come on over."

Steve takes a step forward -- and Tony clicks his tongue, a sharp reprimand.

"Uh-uh," Tony says, and his voice goes hard with command. "Crawl."

This is another new addition to the game, which is why Steve had forgotten they were doing it. He's not sure it's going to be right, but there's only one way to find out.

He sinks to his knees and feels an immediate and overwhelming sense of relief as Tony smiles encouragingly at him. All he has to do is what Tony says. Tony wants him to do this. For as long as the scene lasts, his life is blessedly, perfectly simple.

"Good, good," Tony says, softly. "Now come here."

The hardwood floor isn't the softest surface Steve's ever crawled over, but that's not important. His uniform is thick enough to protect him from most of it. And that's not good; the fact that he's wearing the uniform, that he's moving like he might move on a mission, is impinging on his consciousness again, threatening to bring him back to a state of mind where it wouldn't be okay that any of this is happening.

But then he reaches Tony and it's all better, because Tony slides his fingers into his hair, pulls his head up, and tips his face back. It's a little rough, but that's even better. Steve doesn't want to fight back. Steve wants to take what Tony gives him. He leans gratefully against Tony's leg.

"You didn't like that part, did you?" Tony murmurs, a brief break in character. "I'm sorry. I'll make it better next time." And then his fingers tighten roughly in Steve's hair and he raises his voice. "And here you are. Come on, Commander. You know where your place is."

Underneath Tony's desk it's cool and dark, another safe place; Steve's boxed in on five of six sides. Tony's put a cushioning mat down, and Steve's grateful for Tony's thoughtfulness even as he knows he could do this perfectly well without it.

Tony looks down at Steve. "And what are you here for?"

He likes this part. He hates how much he likes this part. "I'm here for you to use me," Steve says, and Tony's smile is bright and knife-sharp, as Steve's cock twitches again and soaks his underwear with even more pre-come.

Tony runs his thumb over Steve's lips and Steve, desperate with humiliation, opens his mouth, chasing Tony's fingers, God, he just needs Tony to give him something, anything--

"Ah-ah!" Tony says, jerking his hand away, and Steve goes hot, shame and lust twined together. "That's not what I have for you. You know what I have for you."

Tony's hands go to his waist, and he undoes his belt and then the fly of his pants before pulling out his soft cock. With one hand he grabs Steve by the hair and gently tugs him closer; with his other hand he presses his fingers past Steve's lips, opens his mouth for him, and eases his dick in like he's feeding it to him.

It's not much like giving a blowjob. Tony's cock in his mouth is smaller, lighter. Vulnerable. Steve's purpose here is to stay still. He's a warm place for Tony to put his cock. He's nothing else now. He's not Commander Rogers. He's not the man who used to be Captain America. All he is now is a warm, wet hole for Tony's comfort. He doesn't even deserve Tony's erection, because Tony hasn't said that's what he gets. He has one job, and it's simple, so simple that he can't fuck it up. He can't fuck anything up.

That hasn't been very true of his life recently.

Tony sighs in unfeigned pleasure. "Oh, yeah, that's the ticket," he breathes. "You do that so well," he says, and the hand in Steve's hair lightens into a caress. "I'm just going to get some work done. You stay right where you are."

Then Tony lifts his hand away and gets to work. There are a couple of typing sounds, here and there, but mostly Steve sees fragments of moving light when he glances up, as the holograms shift places. Steve, for his part, has nothing to do but kneel here. His mouth is full of Tony. When he breathes in, it's all Tony, his nose against Tony's skin. The hell of it is that right now he knows he can't work with Tony, can't stand to be on the same team with Tony without picking a fight -- but when Tony gives him something to keep his mouth full, it's almost like old times. 

It's probably a good thing he can't talk. He'd ruin it. He ruins a lot of things these days. He pictures Sharon walking away for the last time. He pictures dark rooms in Hong Kong and Madripoor. He pictures himself loading a gun.

He hears himself make an unhappy noise, unbidden. He feels a tear trickle down his cheek.

He expects Tony to keep ignoring him, but instead Tony brings a hand back down, strokes through his hair, and wipes the tear away. "Shh," Tony says, soft, soothing. "You're thinking too much. Don't think about anything." His fingers card through Steve's hair again. "I don't need you to think. I just need you to be here."

This time Tony doesn't move his hand away. He just keeps petting Steve's head, soft and rhythmic. Steve realizes that he's barely even hard anymore, himself. He's just a thing for Tony. He's not a person. He doesn't have to be a person right now. He doesn't have to be a soldier. He doesn't have to give orders. Something inside him shakes loose, a rusty lock opening, setting something free.

He doesn't think he does anything different but Tony must sense it in the way he holds himself, because Tony slides his thumb over Steve's cheekbone like it's a reward. "There you go," Tony says, his voice infinitely gentle. "There you go. Just like that. You feel so good. You're doing such a good job. A perfect job."

Steve closes his eyes in bliss and pushes everything else in his life away.

Tony pets his hair for another minute or two, saying nothing, before he takes his hand away and goes back to work. Steve hears the keyboard again, the scrawling of pen on paper. Tony's arranged his schedule very carefully so no one will need to come in, and they stop if anyone calls; that's not what either of them want.

It's easy now not to focus on anything, to let everything float away, tipped over the side into a fast-moving current. He doesn't need anything back.

He doesn't know how much time has passed, but Tony's touching his hair again, praising him more. "So very good," Tony whispers. "All mine. All you have to do is this. No decisions. No hard choices. Just be mine. Do this for me."

Steve feels himself start to cry again. It feels like all his armor is gone, everything protecting him. Tony could run his hands over Steve's skin and touch his soul.

"I know what you do in the dark," Tony says, and Steve feels more tears drip down his cheeks because no one was supposed to know, he was never supposed to do it, and he can't say anything back, his mouth full of Tony's cock. "I hacked your servers. I read your reports. I know you tortured two men last week. Oh, not you personally. But you gave the orders, didn't you? You just let Sharon and Natasha do it."

Steve squeezes his eyes shut in misery.

Tony's hand is still in his hair. "But none of that is here, is it? No," he says, softly. "Here you're safe. Here you don't have to make those calls. Here you just have to do what I say. Just breathe. Just hold still and take my cock. Just like that."

Steve breathes out, and the last of the tension in him has vanished. Tony knows. Tony knows all his secrets and Tony has him here and he's safe.

"Beautiful," Tony says, like Steve is a sculpture or a painting. "There you go. I know it's hard. You're always so stubborn. Just be here. Just like that."

He breathes and breathes and goes under, down to the sweet place inside him where time has no meaning. He thinks, dimly, that he doesn't deserve this, but he doesn't care. He's nothing. He's gone.

The next thing he registers is Tony's hands gently pulling him away from his cock. Tony rolls back in his chair to make room for Steve to stand, as he does up his fly. The light outside is brighter; the sun must be higher in the sky. Steve doesn't move.

"How long?" Steve's voice is a croak.

"A couple hours," Tony says, with an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, I got distracted. Here, here, come on up."

Tony stands up and Steve tries to follow him, only to find that he can't quite balance right. He leans against the desk. His legs are shaking and his thoughts are slow like honey. He knows what's supposed to happen now. This is when the game ends.

As usual, Tony is halfway across the apartment, gesturing wildly and talking a mile a minute. "So how about I get some protein into you before you leave? I make a mean omelette. Or, if you have, uh, other needs you'd like some help with, I'm definitely not opposed to taking you to bed--"

That's when Tony turns around and realizes Steve isn't with him. "Steve?"

_What if the game doesn't have to end?_

Steve takes a few stumbling steps forward, trying to follow Tony, and then his legs give out and he crashes to his knees. He crawls, just like Tony wanted. He realizes he's crying again.

Tony's voice cracks with concern. "Steve? What's the matter?"

He's at Tony's feet now. He wraps his arms around Tony's legs, abased, a suppliant. "Keep me," he begs, and he doesn't know if he's still down or if he's coming up wrong but all he knows is that he never wants to go back to the darkness. "Keep me here, please, Tony, please. Keep me safe. I'll do whatever you want. Anything you want. I'm yours. Anything."

Tony says nothing.

Steve cries, pressing his face against Tony's leg, staining his pants with tears.

And then Tony steps back. "Stand up," he says. It's an order.

Steve doesn't move. He's curled on the hardwood floor. Tony could kick him, if he wanted to. Steve can picture it.

"Stand up, _Commander_ ," Tony repeats, and, oh, this is how it's going to go.

Shaking, Steve stands.

Tony's nostrils flare. "Do you know why you're in that uniform? Do you know why you're not an Avenger? Do you know why you tortured those men?" He stabs a finger in the air. "Because you decided to. You're the one who put on that uniform. You're the one who picked up those guns."

"Tony, no--"

"This is a fantasy," Tony spits out. "You know that, right? You can't hide from the rest of your life forever. I'm the only other person in the room. If you fire that gun, who are you going to hit?" He runs his hands through his hair. "You came to me and you wanted my help forgetting about your bullshit black-ops job for a couple of hours, but this-- this is something else."

Steve lowers his head in shame. "I-- I don't know what to do."

"Well," Tony says, and now he sounds almost mocking, "most people would quit their fucking job, but you, you're going to say something noble like--"

"I have a duty," Steve retorts.

They know each other far, far too well. This is why they can't be Avengers together anymore. As soon as one of them opens their mouth and says something, it's like this. Tony's under his skin. He's always been. It used to be a good thing.

That stopped around about the time he tried to beat Tony's face in.

Tony half-smiles. "Then I won't keep you from it. Don't come crawling back."

Steve turns and walks out. He doesn't look behind him, even when he hears Tony start to cry.

**Author's Note:**

> The usual [Tumblr post](https://sineala.tumblr.com/post/611089989775818752/fic-job-satisfaction).

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Job Satisfaction](https://archiveofourown.org/works/22926958) by [The_Casual_Sounds (the_casual_cheesecake)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_casual_cheesecake/pseuds/The_Casual_Sounds)




End file.
